


brick by brick

by pixiepower



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Flirting, Home Improvement, Kitchen Sex, M/M, Seungkwan Sexy, gratuitous but warranted objectification of joshua hong, remember when he used to be a twink? never forget your roots, subversion of expectations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28641012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pixiepower/pseuds/pixiepower
Summary: Seungkwan is turning twenty-five in January. And it’s only October now, but it’s been a hard fucking year. It’s only right to start a new year with something made to make his life easier, more pleasing to the eye.Good God is this man pleasing to the eye.
Relationships: Boo Seungkwan/Hong Jisoo | Joshua
Comments: 20
Kudos: 167
Collections: Seventeen Rare Pair Fest: 2 Rare 2 Pair





	brick by brick

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SVTRarePairFest2](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SVTRarePairFest2) collection. 



> title from “brick by brick” by arctic monkeys. __
>
>>  _i’m gonna reconstruct  
>  brick by brick  
>  i wanna feel your love  
>  brick by brick  
>  _
> 
> **prompt:** seungkwan turns 25 and gifts himself with a kitchen renovation. he can't cook, but that's not important.
> 
> what's important is the extremely hot guy that has been sent to tear up his kitchen and is now spending a few hours everyday in seungkwan's house getting sweaty. seungkwan is getting absolutely no work done because he's spending all his time trying to flirt with joshua, conveniently dropping things right next to him and standing up Very Slowly, or fucking up one of the pipes so that, oh no! joshua has to come back to fix it.
> 
> any rating, bonus points for joshua being oblivious and seungkwan getting huffy about it

It’s not like it is on television.

On television, six, nine, twelve weeks fly by in forty minutes, hardship scrubbed away with flashy editing and some CFs for Nene Chicken and Pocari Sweat.

And secondly and possibly more importantly, despite the publicity of it all, builders on television are nowhere near as hot as the one currently standing in the middle of Seungkwan’s kitchen, golf pencil tucked behind his ear. Seungkwan only noticed because it pushes his honey-blond hair back to reveal that he has  _ earrings.  _ Several of them, silver hoops and studs a sexy constellation across the cartilage. That’s. Fun. Nice. That’s fun and nice. Nice and fun.

“You’ve got a great place here,” he’s saying, plush mouth, previously pressed flat in an appraising line, now breaking into an impressed smile. “This is a really beautiful house, Seungkwan-ssi.”

And of course Seungkwan  _ knows  _ that. Jeju-do is full of old, beautiful, well-kept traditional-style houses, Seungkwan’s late great-aunt’s hanok among them. But the fact is, this place has one foot in the 1800s and one foot in the 1980s, and while Seungkwan respects the storied history of the Republic of Korea, he also respects heated hardwood and soft-close drawers and a basin sink.

He’s turning twenty-five in January. And it’s only October now, but it’s been a hard fucking year. It’s only right to start a new calendar year with something made to make his life easier, more pleasing to the eye.

Good  _ God  _ is this man pleasing to the fucking eye.

So Seungkwan laughs, a lilting, demure thing, crossing his legs at the ankles and letting his weight shift onto one foot so the line of his body sways down his torso through his hips and thighs. “Thank you, Joshua-ssi,” he says. “I’m really glad you’re here to help with everything.”

Joshua nods attentively. “Of course. You would be surprised at how many people try to manage a renovation on their own and get really overwhelmed, especially if they’re trying to live in the house, or if they have kids or work from home.” He runs a broad hand over the wall between the counter and the upper cabinets, and Seungkwan can hear the plasticky crackle of lifting paint even from here. Joshua sounds regretful when he adds, “I’m not gonna lie, you definitely have some concerns that someone without experience would struggle with.”

“But I take it you’re not inexperienced,” Seungkwan says because he can’t help himself, catching the corner of his mouth between his teeth.

The glimmering look Joshua shoots him has to be half due to the afternoon light streaming in from the sliding glass doors, all golden and earnest. “That I am not. I’ve been a contractor for going on four years, and my partner even longer, six years this summer. I promise you’ve chosen the right team for the job.”

Seungkwan exhales, pressing his lips together and standing up straight. “Well, I appreciate it. I don’t mean to step on toes or anything, but I do want to have a hand in the renovation. Not just supervising, either. I know realistically the costs cut by helping out myself aren’t going to make a huge difference, but…”

“No, I think that’s awesome,” Joshua grins like he means it. “A lot of homeowners have a hands-off approach, which is fine, but this way you’ll know everything is exactly as you want it, and I can show you how to repair anything that might come up in the future, which will save you long-term, too.”

“Oh! Well. That’s great.”

Seungkwan blinks and swallows, overcome with images of Joshua’s broad shoulders and golden brown eyes, and hands cradled together on a fucking—band saw, or something, he doesn’t know, but good God. This is going to be a long two months.

•

As Seungkwan is becoming increasingly aware, he is always right.

The days, already long with phone calls and emails and  _ No, send it to Jeonghan—you know he’s your primary point of contact. If it comes to me first—yeah, exactly. It’s not your first day. If I’m touching a manuscript—thank you. Exactly. Call hyung  _ run him more ragged now that the pounding in his head is in perfect, painful harmony with a pounding against the walls in the kitchen a few rooms down from Seungkwan’s makeshift office, where  _ dae-imo _ piled old boxes of files that now serve as a standing desk. 

Everything in this house is coated in a thick layer of time, fine particles settling over his skin.

It’s a generous gift, Seungkwan knows. Sojeong and Jinseol were old enough when they visited to remember their great-aunt, which resulted in more personal bequeathments. That’s—fair, it’s  _ reasonable,  _ knowing that they have those memories with her and get something to remember her by, to carry with them, to pass down to their children with stories like delicate hands.

But it makes the dust settle even more thickly, this feeling that Seungkwan has been given more than he deserves. Jinseol has a daughter now, someone who would love to dig her hands into the dirt in the courtyard, or Sojeong, who ought to have something to ease the financial burden of medical school. 

Instead, Seungkwan is the one living in this house, too big and too open for him, trying to find some way to make it fit, a hand-me-down coat he just needs to get tailored.

Hence his only reprieve, hired from the heavens and taking the form of tan, toned muscles in a cutoff shirt, hauling old appliances out into the courtyard one minute and toting out countertops the next. When Joshua wipes sweat from his forehead with one corded forearm, gloves blackened with grime and flecked with splinters of wood, it almost makes Seungkwan wish for a different kind of pounding rhythm singing through his body. Maybe even one where he’s in control.

One hour Seungkwan is actively yelling at someone over teleconference and he can hear Joshua’s warm laughter around the corner and it flushes something out of his system, heat flashing through him. He takes a deep breath and tries again, and sends an e-gift card to Starbucks to the whole intern team once he’s logged off.

But as the next day wears on Seungkwan isn’t able to shake the feeling, the irritation and stress of misprints and improperly formatted documents compounding until his hands are seconds away from snapping his cell phone in half. Then more than ever he needs something soothing. A balm for the soul.

He needs to stand in the corner of his torn-up kitchen, arms crossed in what he hopes is a thoughtful position but what he knows is a flattering one, light blue linen shirt tucked into his slim cut jeans, the epitome of work-from-home professional.

Mingyu says Seungkwan likes admiring things he can’t have. The further away it is, the more he wants to get his hands around it, the more focused and fixated on it he gets, so close he can taste it. Seokmin says Seungkwan would eat a star if he could, just to say he’d done it. To show that he’s  _ capable  _ of it. Of surprising someone. Of surprising  _ everyone. _

This feels a little like that, watching Joshua jog back in from the courtyard and being greeted with a sunny smile. Seungkwan feels the UV rays soak into his skin when he asks, “Can I help?”

“Seungkwan-ah! Yeah, I’d love that,” Joshua says, a deep breath filling out his work shirt and flattening it out again.

This is exactly what Seungkwan needs, he thinks, as Joshua helps him tug on some gloves, strapping them tightly around his wrists. The overlap is significant, and the suedelike caress of Joshua’s glove feels just rough enough on his skin before he flexes his hands to check the fit.

“Are these going to be okay?” 

“What do you—oh, I just have big hands,” Joshua laughs.

“You do,” Seungkwan demurs, appreciating the tension melting out of his spine at the way Joshua grins at him.

“You’ll be fine, but if they start to slip let me know and I can fix ‘em.” Joshua claps his gloves together, and dust flies out from between them, a dreamy little cloud of debris that makes Seungkwan press a cough into the inside of his shoulder. “You want a mask?”

Seungkwan raises an eyebrow. “On this face?”

Laughing, Joshua tilts his head, conceding the point.

Seungkwan lets the unspoken compliment flutter through him, a deep breath swelling through his lungs, and eyes the last few cabinets that need to be torn out. 

“Ready to wreck some shit?”

A gasp of delight bursts from Seungkwan, and when he looks back Joshua has his tongue caught between his teeth like he’s keeping a shared secret, holding out a huge, rubber-coated mallet with one toned arm.

Seungkwan’s gloves settle over the grip of the mallet, spaced apart on the handle, and he tests the weight of it between his hands. It feels—good, to wield something with power, to know that your action is going to have a reaction. Joshua gestures to one cabinet, stepping aside to give Seungkwan encouraging berth, and Seungkwan reels back and swings.

•

“Why don’t you ever check your KaTalk?” Seungkwan barks into the phone, the annoyed set of his jaw actually looking pretty handsome in the mirror. He tilts his head experimentally, tensing and untensing his facial muscles.

Mingyu mutters something unintelligible away from the microphone, then fades back in halfway through his sentence. “...fault, Bobtori couldn’t get on the couch.”

“I’m in a crisis!” Seungkwan says, “Your dog is the size of two Q-tips, of course she couldn’t get on the couch on her own. Check your fucking KaTalk! Don’t hang up! Just swipe to it.”

“If you were less demanding in your day to day I might be able to recognize actual crises better.”

“That is a  _ you _ problem, Mangyu! Which one looks better for a ‘mistake’ message?”

The sound of shuffling and a shouted curse, suddenly very far away. More shuffling while Seungkwan plucks at his hair with his free hand, arranging it one way and then another with a critical, mirrored eye. When Mingyu has picked up his dropped phone on the other side of the line, there is a long exhale, then a stifled laugh.

“Mingyu!”

“Sorry,” Mingyu laughs through the call, “But you never ask me to help you choose thirst traps. Why now?”

Seungkwan sighs, walking out of the bathroom and sliding his back along the solid hallway wall, grateful that not everything is  _ hanji.  _ Paper wall panels are not exactly ideal for maximum dramatic effect. “I don’t—I don’t know! You saw his Instagram! His last boyfriend was not the same… type of person as me. I’m overthinking.”

“That’s true, I guess. And Seokmin hasn’t stopped talking about his construction partner or whatever they’re called since we laid eyes on him. I would put money down that they’ve hooked up.”

A voice echoes in the background of Mingyu’s side of the call.  _ “If Choi Seungcheol is on the table, we’re calling dibs! And tell Seungkwanie not to worry, he’s everybody’s type!” _

Fondness rushes through Seungkwan’s body at the faraway sound of Seokmin’s encouragement, but it does little to temper the uncharacteristically irritating challenge he is facing.

The fact is, the last few weeks have been an exercise in tried patience. It was a nice thought to entertain at first, the way things like this always are, just gently blowing on the ember of attraction to keep it warm inside your chest. Something to make the days drag a little less. Seungkwan’s days have been stressful, even (possibly especially) while he’s been allowed to work mostly remotely while the renovation occurs, and nursing a harmless crush on one of the hottest men he has ever laid his eyes on is the perfect distraction.

It’s just that Joshua is—he’s  _ handsome,  _ and kind, and easygoing, and it is driving Seungkwan nuts, because he is giving everything he has and getting nothing back. It’s infuriating, to be flirting so heavily against a brick wall. Seungkwan knows and has accepted that he is not well known for his patience, and that his regular frustration and sexual frustration are nestled very closely inside his body, dormant, scathing rage simmering under the surface that can only be soothed by having everything in its place, going exactly as he’s planned it.

So the fact that for weeks now his tried and true techniques have resulted in nothing but gentle, friendly smiles and oblivious stares is not just frustrating, but confusing. Confounding. Utterly beyond Seungkwan.

Seungkwan is used to fielding advances from men like Joshua, built guys who can probably wrap both hands around Seungkwan’s waist and hoist him onto the counter and have their way with him, and who say so. Men who can, if not outright flirt with him first, at least pick up his signals and run with the messages then. Joshua isn’t stupid. He’s also not taken, or not into men. So what is the problem?

What kind of man is Joshua? 

Seungkwan feels out of his depth. He has to pull on gloves and try to get a solid grip. He sighs, shifting his cell phone to his other hand. “I just don’t know what could get his attention, you know?”

“Then don’t choose,” Mingyu says excitedly. “That’s your angle, the  _ ‘which do you like better?’  _ thing, that way you can attach both pictures and not have to sacrifice anything.”

“Now we’re talking. Get hyung to give you a kiss. You’ve earned it.”

“Don’t—“ Mingyu clears his throat, and Seungkwan holds his phone against his chest to laugh, “—don’t talk to me like that, I’m your hyung.”

Seungkwan trills, “Love you, Mangyu!” and hangs up.

He attaches both images, the full-body profile with his best-fitting pants followed by the fitted tee bust shot, where the lines of his face look soft and you can see the taper of his torso into his waist. What’s not to like?

_ that’s okay then, we can delay installation until the rest of it arrives _

**_joshua:_ ** _ sorry seungkwan. i’ll be by as soon as it comes in, though, promise  _

_ Today _

_ which one [image1.jpg] [image2.jpg] _

_ oh my god wrong person, this is so embarrassing= _

_ sorry joshua-ssi _

**_joshua:_ ** _ ha ha no worries _

**_joshua:_ ** _ :) _

And then nothing.

Seungkwan kicks an empty box across the floor. A dead spider falls out when it hits the bookshelf. He shrieks and darts out of the room. This  _ fucking _ house.

•

“The worst part is definitely having to order so much takeaway, huh.”

Seungkwan jumps, the environmentally unfriendly styrofoam of his lunch container creaking accusingly as he shoves it further into the metal trash bin, buried under floorboard offcuttings and lengths of tie.

“Oh, my God,” Joshua says in English, voice low and apologetic when he says, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

Letting out a long breath, Seungkwan laughs unsteadily. “Just took me by surprise.”

After setting down his lunch box on the little foldout worktable in the corner of the gutted kitchen, Joshua gestures to the trash. Seungkwan almost wishes he wouldn’t. “I just—I’m sure not being able to cook is tough.”

Seungkwan presses his lips together, nodding slowly, a closed-mouth  _ mhm  _ that Joshua sees through instantly, a sharpness springing to his eyes that makes Seungkwan’s stomach tighten in anticipation. He  _ knows  _ that look. He’s worn that look every day for twenty-four and a half years. It’s  _ fascinating  _ to see it twinkle on someone else’s features.

“You don’t cook,” Joshua says, and it’s not derisive but it’s not a question either. It’s curled over his tongue playfully, an expression crossing his face when he says it that causes previously unseen dimples to make themselves known. 

Seungkwan’s fingers dig into the surface of the styrofoam at the sight of them, and he considers it a win that he manages a charmingly sheepish grin when he replies, “Caught me.”

“Then—and forgive me for asking, but why would you remodel your kitchen?”

In answer, Seungkwan shimmies his shoulders a little, face wrinkling as he grasps for a reply. Joshua tips his weight onto one hip, resting his shoulder against the wall as he waits for Seungkwan to gather his thoughts. His instinct is to run his hand over his face, but he’s not Hansol and his skincare routine is more than just “water” and “lotion.” (“You can’t just say  _ lotion,  _ Hansol. What do you mean? What do you mean,  _ lotion?” _ The conversation was one of the most stressful of Seungkwan’s life.)

“My great-aunt left me this house.  _ Imo-halmeoni…  _ she left my mother and my sisters personal gifts, but I got—” Seungkwan gestures out the window to the courtyard and the rest of the ㄱ-shaped building at large, “—this.”

Joshua nods, drifting further into the room with increasing understanding. “And you weren’t close?”

“Not really,” Seungkwan says. “I have a few memories of coming over for Chuseok when we were very young, but all of her bequeathments fell to us because she never had children of her own.”

He picks up Joshua’s water bottle where it’s empty next to his lunchbox and fills it with water from the mini fridge he has set up, just to keep his hands busy.

“I moved in, and it felt like someone else’s house. I know it is, but… I don’t know. On Naver it said that the kitchen is the most common first renovation for new homeowners.” Seungkwan laughs sheepishly to mask the embarrassment from the confession. “I just wanted something that I picked, I guess. Something that feels like me. It’s a big house for just me.”

“You said she never had children. Do you think it was big for her, too?” Joshua asks carefully, voice cautious like coaxing a feral cat out of a bush.

It sounds like there’s something he’s not saying.

Seungkwan pauses, eyes darting up to Joshua’s face, but he’s seated on top of an overturned paint bucket gazing into his lunch, poking around his salad like it’s the most interesting thing he’s seen in his life. Giving Seungkwan a moment to process, a generous breath to think.

_ Dae-imo  _ may not have had children, but nobody ever said that she was alone. Seungkwan thinks of the boxes and boxes of dusty old documents in the room he’s using as an office, and sets Joshua’s water bottle down next to his lunchbox.

“You know… Maybe,” Seungkwan says, pulling up a bucket himself. “I wish I had the chance to ask her.”

“Maybe this is your chance,” Joshua says, taking a bite of salad. With a mouth half-full of leaves, he adds, “You just moved in, right? Houses like these, beautiful, old houses, they all tell stories. You get to add the next chapter.”

“Poetic.”

Eyes flicking up to Seungkwan’s face, Joshua laughs behind his hand, swallowing his bite. “Listen, I know it sounds like bullshit, but I actually mean it. I do a lot of these renovations, especially out here on the island, for all these people who don’t give a single fuck about the history of the houses they live in, if you’ll excuse my language.”

Heat flashes down Seungkwan’s spine at the casual expletives dropping like honey from Joshua’s lips, but he nods and waves a hand as if to say,  _ continue. _

“All these rich people who just want the fanciest shit, all stainless steel and glass and Louis Vuitton whatever, but they don’t care who came before them or who’ll come after. They hire us, hand over the keys, say  _ We’re going to our other home in Busan, back in two months,  _ and come back to their cubic zirconia house. You actually care. Yeah, you want everything to be beautiful, but the rest of it matters to you, too. I could tell right away.”

Seungkwan chews on the inside of his cheek, watching Joshua’s eyes on him grow brighter and brighter, the weird twist of his mouth as he talks convincing Seungkwan more and more that this is the most Joshua has gotten to speak to a client in a long time. Possibly ever. Joshua’s face is expressive as it is beautiful, elastic and smooth and impassioned, and something inside Seungkwan softens at the sight of it.

Of course all that  _ Oh, Joshua-ssi, I think I dropped something under the sink, can you help me see?  _ bent-over nonsense, all those days and days’ worth of  _ I’m so sorry, Joshua-ssi, I think maybe I messed up the pipe,  _ soaked-shirt antics would do nothing for him. Seungkwan feels foolish just for considering that it would.

One pressing matter lingers, though: “A Louis Vuitton house?” Seungkwan asks with barely concealed disdain.

Joshua presses a hand to the tabletop. “I  _ know.” _

“I’m sure you have had to carry out a lot of unfortunate design choices.”

“You would not believe.” Joshua’s eyes widen, and he nods very seriously. “Remind me to show you a picture of the Cheesecake Factory house sometime,” he says solemnly, the first blush of a smile tugging at the corners of his eyes, and Seungkwan nods through his confusion.

“And in the interest of fairness I’ll show you a picture of my friend Hansol’s most poorly coordinated outfits.”

“It’s a deal,” Joshua laughs, doubling over with one broad hand secure on the closed lid of his lunchbox. His whole face scrunches up with it, laughter transforming his features into peaks and valleys of golden terrain, somewhere worth exploring, bumping Jeju itself off the top holiday destinations list. Joshua laughs with his whole body, genuine, his other hand landing on Seungkwan’s shoulder to settle himself.

The response, like always, feeds a hunger inside Seungkwan, sating one beast and awakening another, endlessly ravenous. Seungkwan knows how bottomless he can get.

So when Joshua’s hand withdraws, Seungkwan claps his onto his knees and pushes up to stand. “Oh, you should get back to your lunch. I didn’t mean to keep you off your break.”

“No, it’s nice, I,” Joshua says, mysterious dimples disappearing again as his brows knit together. Seungkwan misses them immediately. “Thank you for—” He shakes his water bottle, then sort of gestures wildly between them, to the empty space where Seungkwan was sitting.

Seungkwan nods, tucking a smile into his cheek. “Yeah. Any time.”

•

Everything proceeds in a timely manner, or, at least, that’s what Seungkwan thinks.

According to his meticulous research, the size and scale of this project usually merits a small team, so he can’t complain when he starts to get the impression that Joshua is pulling a little overtime to get the job done.

Plumbing and electrical were beyond Seungkwan’s scope, though that didn’t stop him from interrupting his own workday by brewing extra cups of coffee for Joshua, upgrading the water pitcher in the minifridge to something a little bigger, drifting into the courtyard on an unseasonably warm November afternoon just to swap work stories and make Joshua laugh on his lunch. And when Joshua pulled him over to the electrical panel, standing  _ so  _ close with his chest to Seungkwan’s back as he pointed out how to reset connections and safely turn things on and off when maintenance needed to occur, Seungkwan was enveloped by a warm, masculine smell, and considers it a win that he only let his mind drift after the important part was over.

(And if Joshua talking shop with the city inspector was so attractive that Seungkwan dropped out of the teleconference early and let Chan lead so he could just stand in his office like one of Wonwoo’s video game creatures and eavesdrop on Joshua’s careful, low timbre, then darted into the bedroom to muffle any noise he might have made into his extremely comfortable down pillows as he got off, no one was the wiser.)

Flooring was easy enough.

“Seungkwan-ah, I think you have original floors under here,” Joshua had shouted excitedly, and Seungkwan had run out to watch Joshua peel up the eighties-era flooring to reveal worn but strong wood, the same material as the  _ maru  _ just a few sections over.

Seungkwan got to his knees and helped Joshua remove the ugly replacement flooring, watching Joshua’s thighs flex and the muscles of his arms bulge and listening to him sing along under his breath to the music playing from his phone, mostly English songs, but plenty that Seungkwan is familiar with.

Ariana Grande is on his playlist,  _ and _ he knows the words. Seungkwan wants to suck his dick so bad.

Every time Seungkwan tries to pull away, feeling a little too conscious of the way he can’t seem to  _ stop  _ flirting, apologetically sighing, “Oh, I’ll let you get back to work…” Joshua knits his face together in genuine bewilderment, instantly shaking his head and replying “No, hang out,” or “You want me to show you what I’m doing?”

**_mangyu:_ ** _ it’s possible he’d doing everything he can within his professional boumds to show yu youre not misunderstanding _

**_seokmin hyung:_ ** _ he’s saying keep trying!!!!! encouraging you!!!! you aren’t barking up the wrong tree! _

**_mangyu:_ ** _ 🐶  _

After that, work picks up, which is fine because they have to wait for the cabinets Seungkwan ordered to come in anyway, which is only a little stressful, Seungkwan lies to himself. To keep himself busy and ever-moving like a shark he starts to work through the old boxes in the office, trashing receipts and texting Jinseol and Sojeong pictures of childhood art with their mother’s signature on the bottom.

The more he digs, the more he wonders if  _ dae-imo  _ left a blessing or a curse. It feels like all this evidence of a life fully lived is highlighting just how lonely Seungkwan feels in this big house, embarrassed at how he finds himself missing Joshua’s pretty laugh, the sensation of hands at the small of his back as he’s shown how to take care of this house he doesn’t even know if he has rightful claim to, the feeling of knowing that there’s someone around the corner who’s happy to see you. But he is increasingly unsure if his great-aunt felt the same as he gets further away from memories of their family line.

Seungkwan coughs at the dust that flies off the outside of the box, but inhales the warm, lingering scent of gardenia from the inside. Pressed flowers, a small wooden jewelry box, a carefully folded-up hanbok, and a stack of letters and photographs tied together with a ribbon.

_ joshua! _

_ i think you were right _

**_joshua:_ ** _ oh? what about? _

_ look!!! _

_ [image.jpg] _

**_joshua:_ ** _ holy shit :O _

**_joshua:_ ** _ wow, seungkwan. that’s so cool, seriously _

**_joshua:_ ** _ [sticker] [sticker] [sticker] _

**_joshua:_ ** _ can’t wait to see when i come back ^__^ _

•

_ SOS _

**_mangyu:_ ** _???,? _

_ he drives a truck ):  _

_ and ): _

_ i am currently in it ): _

**_mangyu:_ ** _ you wamt halo by beyoncé playef at your funeral, right? _

**_mangyu:_ ** _ here lies boo seungkwan. died of horny causes _

_ you’re truly the worst _

_ will you at least show everyone his picture once i leave this mortal plane so they understand _

**_mangyu:_ ** _ ㅋㅋㅋ _

**_mangyu:_ ** _ of course!!’ what kind of friend do you fhink i am _

Boo Seungkwan is, as much as he hates to admit it, not the type of person who has ever been in a pickup truck before. It’s not like they’re hard to come by, especially on Jeju, but it’s more the principle of the thing.

Besides the women who drive them to and from the markets every week, who Seungkwan respects, admires, and fears in varying degrees, the only people he has ever seen drive them with regularity are Men.

Men whose bodies are conditioned with orchard labor, clam digging, fishing, craftsmanship, skin worn like leather boots and wrinkled with sun exposure. Men whose sons’ bodies are premonitions, the only present evidence of which is a thick tan line dipping into their chests. And that evidence is all the more visible when  _ those  _ men lick their lips lewdly and smack Seungkwan’s ass at the club without asking and comment on his little waist,  _ those thick thighs,  _ pretty face, how good he must take it, does he want to see what they can do?

And Joshua—okay. Joshua  _ is _ a man. Seungkwan is viscerally aware of that fact every time Joshua carries in bundles of floorboards, biceps strong and unwavering, or when he snaps a thick piece of particle board without even needing to put it over his knee.

But Joshua is some distance away from the men Seungkwan typically deals with, in every way that matters.

What’s worse is that Joshua is the one driving now, with one arm slung over Seungkwan’s seat behind his headrest, arms bare and humming along to the song on the radio. Seungkwan has never heard it before. He already likes it better when Joshua sings it.

Trying to calm his nerves, Seungkwan closes his eyes and listens to Joshua’s gentle voice murmuring inaudible lyrics. He makes the mistake of taking a deep, anxious breath, and gets a knee-buckling inhale of  _ Joshua,  _ who smells warm and sweaty and boyish and Seungkwan wants to rub his face in it, run his tongue over Joshua’s skin to taste it, lick it off his neck and—

“That was faster than I thought it’d be,” Joshua says pleasantly, and Seungkwan’s eyes snap open to the feeling of Joshua’s arm withdrawing from behind him, hand soft on the back of Seungkwan’s head for a lingering moment before reaching down and pulling up the parking brake.

“We’re here already?”

Joshua unbuckles and slides out of his seat. “Yeah,” he says, closing the door and leaning his elbows in the window where it’s still rolled down to grin at Seungkwan, whose hands are still folded awkwardly in his lap. “You coming? You gotta come in with me if you want them to let you in.”

Seungkwan manages to thaw his body enough to get out of the truck, doing that thing he’s seen people do where he pats the door once he slams it closed.  _ Thank you?  _ he thinks. That’s probably not what people are doing when they do that.

“Wait, so this is like a plus-one situation, then?” Seungkwan asks, falling into step with Joshua as they approach the little building attached to the warehouse.

Joshua knocks his shoulder into Seungkwan’s and leans in conspiratorially. “Exactly. Most exclusive club in town.”

Seungkwan shoves him back with a laugh. “No, seriously.”

“Seriously! This is my favorite wholesaler, where we usually get all our fixtures. It’s for contractors and construction companies to make bulk purchases, so consumers usually aren’t allowed. I thought…” Joshua closes his mouth and shrugs a little, opening the door for Seungkwan. “I thought it might be nice if you wanted to pick them out yourself. This way you get the whole selection and not just what we offer through the firm.”

Despite the unseasonable blast of air conditioning that hits him when the door jingles open, Seungkwan feels the back of his neck heat up.

He doesn’t even realize he’s shivering until Joshua splays a hand on his shoulderblade to lean in a little closer. “I don’t know why they keep it on this time of year either,” he says under his breath, and Seungkwan wills his body to sap all the warmth from Joshua’s palm deep into his core.

Every time Joshua touches him, Seungkwan’s lungs hiccup, breath catching with a guttural stop, someone yanking on his heart like the cord of a lamp.

“Joshua!” booms the voice of a man, presumably the owner, and Joshua squeezes Seungkwan’s shoulder apologetically. 

“Thank you for letting us come in,” he’s saying as he drifts toward the manager, and Seungkwan watches him go, the loss of Joshua’s hand on his body visceral, the air conditioning blowing over where it rested and spreading gooseflesh across his back from the epicenter like cracked glass.

He runs his hands over all the sample fixtures, feeling a lot like a kid at the doctor’s office as he opens drawers to nowhere, testing the feeling of the knobs in his palm, the hook of pulls between his fingers, the contrast of metals on wood. The better part of an hour is spent holding tile and floor samples in his bag up against all the displays. Everything here is crisp and clean and organized, and Seungkwan feels at ease, losing track of time.

A warm gold set of fixtures calls to him, hinges and a smooth, round-edged cabinet pull sparking excitement, and he turns to see where Joshua has gone. 

Seungkwan spots him still in the corner by the owner’s desk, Joshua nodding with waning attentiveness as his ears are talked off about warehouse something or other. When Seungkwan looks, he catches Joshua’s eye: Joshua is already looking at him, shrugging a little as if to say,  _ what can you do?  _ but stifling a smile from twisting onto his face. His eyes sparkle, and his cheekbones are warm gold even in the white light of the overheads.

•

The finishing spray and mortar smell in the house gets to be too bad once they finish with the counters and the backsplash, so on Joshua’s recommendation Seungkwan takes the weekend and drapes himself over Seokmin and Mingyu’s bed, sighing as dramatically as he feels that he is allowed, which is extremely.

“This is stupid, right?” Seungkwan moans. It is greeted with a lingering silence, which is tacit agreement, so he props himself up suddenly and glares. “Right?”

Seokmin’s hands find Seungkwan’s face, and he tips his forehead onto Seungkwan’s. “It’s not stupid! You are allowed to have real feelings for somebody!”

Seungkwan sighs and lets Seokmin knead at his cheeks, and only when he lets go again does he say, “Real feelings are gross.”

From his position at the foot of the bed, Mingyu’s laughter sounds almost pitying. 

Mingyu is good for very few things in Seungkwan’s experience, chiefly: cooking, cleaning, being whiny and wiggly when you kiss him, and giving the tough advice you hate to hear. Seokmin is more delicate, better for reassurance, the kind of friend who listens and makes you laugh and tells you a million times that you’re handsome and cool and that there is  _ no _ way he could  _ ever _ imagine someone not liking you back. So coming to their place is playing affirming words in stereo, the bass and the treble perfectly balanced.

So maybe Seungkwan is a little more amenable to Mingyu saying, “You are a creature  _ made  _ of real feelings,” because Seokmin’s hand is petting his hair. It’s a good system they have going on.

“Ugh,” Seungkwan replies.

Seokmin says, “You said he’s different! There’s nothing to be afraid of, then!”

But therein lies the exact problem. That is why there’s everything to be afraid of.

“He’s just—“ Seungkwan kicks at Mingyu’s legs, and it’s telling that Mingyu lets him, settling a hand on his ankle when he’s done. “He’s nice.”

“Oh, Seungkwan,” Seokmin murmurs.

Nice is one word for it. 

Seungkwan doesn’t know how to handle nice. Seungkwan knows how to handle men who look at him hot and heavy in a club and expect him to arch his back and whimper for them. He knows how to be the hookup they expect for the night, knowing that the minute it lingers they’ll find out he’s not the person to fulfill their fantasies. He’s too demanding, too ambitious, too focused and in control.  _ Not hot enough to act that self-righteous. High maintenance. Fucking bitch. _

Seungkwan knows how to handle men who look like Joshua, but not the ones who act like him.

But even then. No men look like Joshua.

Seungkwan groans and rolls into Mingyu’s body, letting him wrap his arms around him. “Eugh. Why are you so warm all the time?”

“I was hoping you would say hot, just for the joke of it,” Mingyu responds with a gentle smile.

“I don’t need to feed your ego,” Seungkwan mumbles.

“True,” Mingyu says, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of his head. “You don’t need to be anyone else. Just you.”

Seungkwan closes his eyes and breathes in. Mingyu smells like the last whiffs of a morning cologne application, Seokmin like restaurant herbs and his favorite weird candle, that vanilla sage thing they still sell for some reason. 

He supposes if Seokmin and Mingyu agree on a point, maybe there’s some merit to it.

•

Last walkthrough, and Seungkwan is ready to cut his losses and live with another aching regret.

Anxiety knots his stomach when he hears the truck door close, and nausea waves through him like he’s on the bow of a ship, rocking him through their final walkthrough on autopilot, nodding dumbly as Joshua tests all the appliances, lights, and the taps on the basin sink, runs through his punch list and shakes Seungkwan’s hand. Job well done.

“Hey, ah, this part is always awkward,” Joshua says. He still hasn’t let go of Seungkwan’s hand. Seungkwan thinks maybe if he tries he’ll snap.

“I just wanted to—” Joshua’s mouth wrinkles, like he’s sucking on a lemon. He uses his free hand to grab the last piece of physical evidence that he was here, a little blue towel folded up on the corner of the counter. “I thought you deserve something nice.”

Seungkwan tucks his tongue into his cheek, eyes kept wide and innocent just to watch Joshua sweat. He can tell it’s taking some effort for Joshua’s gaze not to keep flicking down to where Seungkwan’s hands disappear behind his body, tucked into his back pockets, and it’s probably asking too much to hope Joshua will say what he means, but weeks and weeks of flirting can’t just be over like this, Seungkwan—Seungkwan can’t  _ let  _ it. He’s going to be all alone in this big house, this beautiful kitchen with no one to cook for, not even himself, and he just wants Joshua to  _ say  _ something before that has to happen.

If he’s really alone in this, he needs to know.

“Like what?”  _ What do I deserve? _

“I got you something,” Joshua says finally, on an exhale. His hands do that thing with his little towel that Seungkwan has seen in a million romantic comedies, and his hopeful heart kicks up into his chest just watching Joshua’s broad hands twist the microfiber between them.

“A present?”

Joshua hesitates, then wrenches his mouth into a wobbly smile. “Two. But you only get the second one if you like the first one.”

Consider Seungkwan’s interest piqued. He lets a grin dance over his face. “I’ll take your wager.”

“Thought you might.” 

Joshua disappears out the door, and returns moments later with a paper-wrapped parcel between his hands, the face of it turned toward his body. It’s not terribly large, just shy of spanning the width of Joshua’s shoulders, which Seungkwan supposes is a fairly skewed measurement.

“My friend, um, he’s an artist, and I know your birthday is coming up, but mostly this is a housewarming gift,” Joshua says, holding out the package.

When Seungkwan takes it and thumbs open the tape, Joshua doesn’t do the traditional anticipatory twitching, or the muted impatient noises. He just waits for Seungkwan to open it, to peel off the thick paper and turn it over to reveal a brilliantly painted canvas, explosions of color blooming familiar flowers like hanbok along the breadth of it, thick strokes of abstract paint splattered over it. Something bold, something new.

“Hyung,” Seungkwan says, voice thick.

“It’s been really great working with you, Seungkwan. I wanted to show my appreciation.”

Seungkwan will not cry in front of this man, even though he’s completely sure that even if he did, Joshua would take it in stride, warm hands rubbing comforting circles into his back and murmuring gentle reassurances in his syrupy voice. Why is that somehow  _ worse? _

“Thank you for trusting me.”

After a shuddering breath Seungkwan swallows, and as loath as he is to set down this priceless gift, he thinks he knows what Joshua means by it, so he leans it up against the wall and takes a step forward.

“Can I take a guess at what my second gift is?” Seungkwan asks, shifting his weight from one foot to the other and using the movement to nudge his feet in between Joshua’s.

Joshua’s laugh comes out hoarse, but he doesn’t move away, letting Seungkwan’s hand steady itself beside his waist, leaning against the butcher block behind him. “Why do I get the feeling you’re a good guesser?”

Seungkwan’s smile melts over his face, eyes dripping honey down his body, and watches Joshua’s slow blink, waiting for the moment his eyes dart down to Seungkwan’s mouth and back up. 

“Caught me,” Joshua says quietly, and Seungkwan tips forward.

Joshua kisses more gently than Seungkwan expected, going pliant under the press of Seungkwan’s body and sighing like he’s been the one sick with worry about what the end of this means, like this ending being a beginning is the stuff of fantasy, like he  _ wants  _ Seungkwan. His mouth is soft, plush-pink, and opens easily for Seungkwan, and his strong arms move up to pull Seungkwan in closer, big hands warm and gentle on his back, fingers curling over his shoulders to keep him flush.

When Seungkwan moves, Joshua moves with him, the equal reaction to Seungkwan’s long-awaited action. Seungkwan’s hands find Joshua’s waist, and Joshua sways forward; Seungkwan’s foot shifts, and Joshua’s legs fall open to make space for Seungkwan’s thigh between his; Seungkwan licks into Joshua’s mouth, and Joshua keeps muttering  _ Oh God,  _ sighing like he can’t believe this is actually happening.

It’s good. It’s better than good,  _ so  _ good, made better by the fact that Joshua won’t let Seungkwan pull away, wants to be pressed against the counter and kissed to high heaven, lets on how hard he’s getting in his cute work jeans when he presses down against Seungkwan’s thigh with a choked-off gasp.

But there’s still something eating at Seungkwan, a nagging worry that Joshua has some unrealistic expectation of what Seungkwan is going to be for him. He wants to shake it off, wants to be sure that everything in front of him is what he hopes it is, that Joshua is nice, and witty, and sexy, and wants Seungkwan because he’s Seungkwan, and not someone he’s not.

If ever there was a time for boldness, it’s probably now. “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I have been fantasizing about taking you apart in this kitchen since the day you walked in and tore out the cabinets.”

“Oh, thank God,” Joshua breathes, and Seungkwan’s heart stutters in his chest, exhaling against skin where he’s mouthing at Joshua’s neck.

“What?”

“You’re a dream,” Joshua says in a tone that shows he means it, shoving at Seungkwan. His voice and face are besotted, but he’s pushing Seungkwan away. When Seungkwan raises his eyebrows Joshua lets out a breathless laugh. “No, go get stuff,” he says urgently.

Relief flooding his body, Seungkwan laughs, and lets Joshua catch his breath as he darts in and out of his bedroom for lube and condoms. The moment alone is like a spider’s web, catching everything in stickiness and stretching out beyond his eyes.  _ You’re a dream. You’re a dream. _

Seungkwan skids back into the kitchen in house-slipper record time to find Joshua’s clothes in a haphazard pile on the floor, and his bare body temptingly bent over the counter.  _ “I’m _ the dream?” Seungkwan says, mouth dry.

Joshua turns and blinks at Seungkwan, slow. His cheek is squished up by a palm and it paints him shy and sweet, the upturned corners of his mouth singing their favorite song in Seungkwan’s ribcage,  _ kiss me, kiss me, kiss me.  _ “You are going to fuck me, right?” It’s more than Seungkwan could have ever hoped for. He nods vigorously and watches Joshua’s face morph into something hungry. “Then yes, you are.”

The angle of their kiss is challenging and only gets sloppier once Seungkwan’s clothes are off, too, and he’s able to feel the warmth of Joshua’s body, the way Joshua pushes back to rub against him. The attempt falls apart altogether once Seungkwan gets a slick finger inside him, Joshua’s face flattening onto the countertop as Seungkwan preps him.

“Gonna inspect our craftsmanship?”

A half-laughed moan skates across the butcher block, Joshua’s lips brushing the counter and a palm pressed flat against the backsplash. “I’m only—oh,  _ my  _ G—Seungkwan, only letting you do this here because I know you don’t cook.”

Seungkwan laughs, then, too, sinking another finger into Joshua, working him open and reveling in the way his thighs twitch and stick to the cabinet doors with the movement. “We sealed the surfaces, it’s fine.”

“S-sealed it,” Joshua laughs, all shuddering breaths and grit teeth.

A third finger before long, and a drawn-out, strangled noise buried in the counter. Smugness settles into Seungkwan's chest at the sharp sound every time Joshua inhales. “You taught me how to maintain it, hyung.”

“Don’t make me think about food-grade mineral oil when you’re fingering me open.”

“Oh, is that what this is? I should have read the label better.”

That beautiful, silly laugh. “Shut up.”

The arch of Joshua’s back, sheened with a thin layer of sweat and finished in pale gold like drawer pulls, is so mesmerizing that Seungkwan almost forgets what he’s doing, running his free hand up Joshua’s waist and around his bicep, down the defined dip of his back and over the gentle swell of his ass. Clothes never did him justice, even at their sweat-clingiest. All this skin. This  _ shape. _

“Seungkwan-ah.”

“Sorry,” Seungkwan says, and when Joshua insists he’s ready, withdraws his fingers and sinks into his body, listening to the whimpers of affirmation and losing himself in a smooth rhythm.

There is a sick sort of delight Seungkwan feels watching Joshua’s sweaty palms slide over the countertops he meticulously installed, watching his hands flex in an attempt not to dig his nails into the smooth wood. It’s like dressing up just to have someone peel your clothes off. He  _ likes  _ the feeling: of Joshua’s face pressed to the counter he built for Seungkwan, of the movement of his hand wrapped around his cock, wetness slick between his fingers, of defiling their hard work. Laying their claim on it.

All of a sudden Seungkwan is struck by the way he feels so comfortable, cock buried in Joshua and Joshua gasping for it, how everything seems to finally be fitting into place.

He feels at home.

Laughter bubbles up his chest, and he giggles, lips pressed to the space between Joshua’s shoulderblades. Joshua shudders, and Seungkwan asks, “You doing okay? Wanna—?”

“If you stop I think I might die and I will sue you, probably,” Joshua interrupts demandingly, more coherent than he’s been in a while.

“Dramatic,” Seungkwan mutters, and Joshua retaliates with a broad hand reaching behind him to grip Seungkwan’s thigh, pulling him back to fuck into him again, off-beat.

“Takes one to know one.” 

Even from this awkward angle Seungkwan can see that Joshua is grinning, and it’s so handsome. Seungkwan grinds in slow and deep, and it’s almost more handsome, the way Joshua’s plush mouth parts on a gasp and his hand speeds up, knuckles brushing the cabinet pull with a low ringing sound. 

“Fuck, Seungkwan, I’m gonna come.”

“Show me, show me,” Seungkwan says tightly, “Wanna see it.”

Joshua nods, teeth sinking into his lower lip as he whines, corded forearm flexing as he works himself over, rocking back and forth in aborted movements between his hand and Seungkwan’s hips until he chokes back a gasp and stutters into his hand, spilling between his fingers. Seungkwan watches come drip to the floor, so far gone that he doesn’t wince about it now but not far gone enough that he doesn’t know he will later, and feels Joshua heave and flatten himself to the counter in a collapse of sweat-tacky skin and fluttery warm noises.

“You’re so hot,” Seungkwan says disbelievingly.

Joshua’s back arches a little and he stretches out like a cat, fingers splayed over the black subway tile of the backsplash. His face is smug and sated. “You say it like you’re mad.”

“I am mad,” Seungkwan laughs, one hand on the small of Joshua’s back, thumb in a dimple there, as he pulls out carefully. He wraps a hand around himself, condom still slick with lube. “Stupid. It’s stupid how hot you are.”

“Thank you,” Joshua purrs, wiggling his hips. “And also, I know.”

Twisting his wrist as he jerks himself off, Seungkwan says breathlessly, “What do you know?”

Joshua stands up straight with a wince, propping himself back on his elbows. Oh, that’s so much  _ body.  _ Seungkwan lets out a pained exhale, eyes roaming over Joshua’s chest and hips and pretty, softening cock between his toned legs, and Joshua catches him looking, but doesn’t shy away. 

His expression is gentle when he says, “You were mad the minute I came in, and I didn’t know why. You tried to hide it; you were so polite,” Joshua rolls his shoulders back, stretching them out, then takes a step forward, pressing his open mouth to Seungkwan’s neck, murmuring, “I got there eventually. Thank you for being patient with me while I figured it out.” 

His big hands reach down, and Seungkwan gasps at the feeling of Joshua’s fingertips gentle on his cock, but whines when the grip doesn’t get any tighter. “Hyung,” Seungkwan gets out, but the rest of his complaint dies on his tongue when Joshua strips off his condom and drops to his knees, looking up at Seungkwan with big, innocent eyes and a too-knowing smile.

“No more polite,” Joshua says, low and purposeful, wrapping Seungkwan’s hand around his cock again at his eye level. He licks his lips, leaving a thin glossy sheen over the full, deep petal pink of it, staging roses for an open house. “I want what you want. And I don’t work for you anymore, so I can finally get it.”

“Shit,” Seungkwan swears, hand moving quick and dirty, and Joshua’s smile widens.

Those secret little dimples pop up, pocketing next to his mouth, and that’s it. Seungkwan comes in wet stripes over Joshua’s face, painting his lips and cheeks with it, and tension leaves Joshua’s body like paint down a wall. He settles back on his heels and lets out a satisfied sigh that is downright  _ dreamy. _

Seungkwan is breathing hard through the tail end of his orgasm, but makes the effort to keep his eyes open, just to watch Joshua make no move for his little towel, long fallen by now to the floor, but instead futilely fight a broad, smitten grin that he aims up at Seungkwan. Seungkwan is sure his face looks equally dumbstruck, but is kind of beyond caring at this point.

“They do say you’re supposed to christen new rooms,” Joshua muses, and Seungkwan gasps on a laugh, foot nudging at Joshua’s side as if to kick him over. He wobbles, but doesn’t topple, and laughs, too, face crinkling up in its perfect pattern. He finally reaches for his towel, and Seungkwan watches afternoon light dapple over the curve of his bare thigh and backside as he does.

Sun streams into his house.

•

When the crisp of the air gives way to sweetness, winter turns into spring. Hanging on the wall above the dining table is a painting, bursting with ageless color and bold, charcoal-grey strokes, beside which hang two photographs.

The first, two women by the ocean, windswept hair and simple skirts blowing with the waves. They look incandescently happy, even in the high contrast and low quality of the midcentury black and white. It bursts forth from the paper, through the glass, into the room, timeless. Pressed against the wall, guarded close to the heart by the back of the frame, in careful, quiet handwriting,  _ 호감을. _

The second, seven men at the sea. Seungcheol visibly out of breath from running into frame after setting the timer, reeled into Seokmin’s side and trying not to beam too brightly at the way Mingyu is laughing. Minghao is gazing long into the lens, posing since before Seungcheol even propped his phone up, one arm slung over Hansol’s shoulder. In the middle, Seungkwan, wrapped comfortably against Joshua’s chest, a smile out of time.

“Had you wanted to redo the bathroom?”

“I don’t know, that seems like a lot of trouble,” Seungkwan calls into the bedroom from the kitchen, midmorning glowing over the wood and paint, gold and bright, as he sets the espresso machine.

Joshua pads out, wearing white briefs and a lopsided grin, and leans a hip against the wall. “Well, you know me,” he says, and Seungkwan smiles. “I’ve never shied away from hard work.”

**Author's Note:**

> 호감을: good/warm feelings, esp. as in a crush or dating, i.e. idols “meeting with good feelings”
> 
> thank you for reading!
> 
> find me on [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/pixiepowerao3) and [curiouscat](http://www.curiouscat.me/pixiepower/)!


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